


Indescribable

by DrownSoda



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Dorian isn't yet an asshole, Fluffy, M/M, he isn't so enchanted by Henry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:32:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownSoda/pseuds/DrownSoda
Summary: "Besides - and I suppose this may be a secret, though not one I'd worry myself to guard - I much prefer you to Henry."Dorian can tell what Basil is thinking, even when sometimes he himself isn't so sure.





	Indescribable

Basil watched Dorian as he relaxed into the purple velvet of the chaise-lounge. The colour was regal, and the matching silken pillows embroidered with the finest golden thread were usually stunning in their beauty - yet they may as well have been plain grey and dull when placed next to the ivory and gold of Dorian.

Basil watched him with a slight smile on his face, those lightly upturned corners that betray the sentimental. He often thought of Dorian, and often looked at him, so it made sense for him to sometimes ponder how he looked at him; to take a step back and view himself as the subject for once. After pondering this for a short time in silence, he decided that it was a gaze of admiration. Not admiration solely of the man’s beauty, or his good soul, or the way he inspired him, or any other moral, immoral, lustful or chaste reason for admiration. Perhaps he felt all of those things, but the pure, weightless feeling he experienced when was with Dorian couldn't be explained as a sum of those feelings - it was something else, something transcendent. It was something - what, exactly, eluded him.

“I'm bored,” declared Dorian, suddenly bringing Basil back to the moment. His lips were pouted as though he was an insolent, spoilt child, but it still didn't lessen his charm in Basil’s eyes. He then looked as if he was thinking intently, his rose-red lips opening a tad but no sound emerging from them.

“What are you thinking?” Basil asked fondly.

Dorian bit his lower lip, before settling on what to say, “You have been rather peculiarly silent today, Basil. Is something weighing on your mind?”

Basil thought for a moment about his response, “Nothing more than usual, Dorian. I dare say you have become accustomed to Henry and his dreadful manner of speech - dreadful in that it never ends!”

Dorian chuckled in amusement, and Basil couldn't help but grin at the sight. Oh, how he loved to see Dorian happy! No amount of laughter lines and creases could ever mar the sheer radiance of his smile, his laugh! He often thought of how he'd have been more stern with Dorian regarding Henry’s influence, if it had not been for how happy the friendship seemed to make him.

“I shall tell Henry you said that. No doubt he will remark on your attempt at wit. However, on a more serious note - do not lie to me, Basil!” Dorian narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 

Basil’s smile dropped, affronted, “How on earth do you mean?” Anxiety gnawed at his stomach like he had some dreadful secret that Dorian could have discovered.

“I am your closest friend and you mine - excuse my assumption on your behalf-”

“Of course you are my closest friend, Dorian!” 

The younger man looked immensely pleased to hear it spoken aloud, although he surely already knew it to be true.

“Very well, I may continue affirmed. Due to our closeness, I feel as though I am able to sense your true mood, and I sense you are not all well.” Dorian rose and began to make his way across the room, perching on the arm of the large brown leather chair where Basil was seated.

The older man chewed his lip, “Can you sense this with Henry, too?” He had to admit he felt a wave of reassurance hit him when he heard Dorian speak of their closeness.

Dorian shook his head, his curls hitting his face in the most charming manner, "I cannot discern Henry’s true mood when he states it outright, Basil, much less when he doesn't!” He stopped for a moment and placed his hand on Basil’s shoulder, “Besides - and I suppose this may be a secret, though not one I'd worry myself to guard - I much prefer you to Henry.”

Basil looked up at Dorian. He had been practically holding his breath since his hand has met his body, but he let a sigh escape as he looked into those blue eyes which he knew the exact composition of, yet could never seem to capture the essence of on the canvas. He thanked God that he was a painter rather than a poet, as he could not imagine how even the most talented wordsmith could compose a way to describe his eyes without resorting to the most tired of cliches.

“You know that I care about you more than anyone, Dorian.”

“I wish to know what troubles you, then.”

If he'd a desire for truth and wit, he'd have replied with something to the tune of “Oh, but I have just told you!” But his sincerity prevented him from stating this truth for fear of it being taken as pure wit, something unbecoming to him. Instead he decided to place his hand atop of Dorian’s, the younger man instinctively leaning in closer to the other man, rather precarious in his position on the chair arm.

“Nothing troubles me when I am alone with you, Dorian. In fact, it is somewhat of a paradox - I am almost troubled by my lack of troubles, when I become conscious of it.”

This revelation made Dorian smile once more, and Basil too, and of course both men laughed upon realising this cause and effect. Unable to move closer to Basil whilst perched on the chair arm, Dorian stood up and hovered above him a moment.

“It pleases me more than anything to hear that, Basil. May I express my gratitude?”

Dorian gestured for him to stand up, and when he did, he stepped closer. Dorian stroked the side of Basil’s face gently, moving his fingertips across the smooth skin and tracing the outline of his lips. The feeling of breathlessness returned to Basil again as he Dorian pressed his pale cheek against his, both men blushing slightly. He knew how close Dorian’s lips were to his own, and he could feel his sweet breath on his skin. He was aching to feel the plump softness of those Cupid bow lips, a feeling he'd dreamt of more often than he would've liked to admit.

Nothing could have prepared him for the real feeling that emerged when Dorian finally kissed him. For a moment they stood still, Basil fighting the growing desire to engulf Dorian’s sweetened lips in his own. Then Dorian grabbed the back of his neck and Basil knew to return the kiss with as much fervour as he could, with all the physical intensity possible. The feeling of his hot, wet mouth was what Basil had figured Heaven felt like - it was better than every exquisite pleasure he'd ever experienced, without the pain.

After a minute or so lost in this passion, they pulled away, breathless. The mid afternoon sunlight streamed through the window glass onto Dorian’s face, and Basil was sure he had never been so beautiful as he was then.

As though he was exhausted purely by feeling, Basil collapsed back into his chair, and Dorian climbed upon his lap, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. The warmth of the younger man made Basil feel safe. A small gold watch sat in Dorian’s top pocket, and upon noticing it Basil remembered his plan for the day, much to his dismay.

“Aren't you supposed to be meeting Henry in a half hour or so?” He pushed the blonde curl that fell into Dorian's eye behind his ear. Of course he didn't want him to leave, but he did not wish to deceive him.

“Yes,” Dorian replied, kissing him on the cheek, “but I would rather stay here with you, today.”

The two men tightened in their embrace. Despite the heavy barriers of clothing between them, Basil felt they were so close as to be skin to skin. He wanted to be skin to skin, he desired to make love with Dorian, and he knew that they would need to find somewhere secluded soon. But in that moment, he felt truly satisfied in a way he'd never felt in life or in art. He felt as though he could finally take that indescribable feeling and give it the name he supposed it had always deserved - love.


End file.
